Criminal Beast, Unexpected Beauty
by ChaoticCrazy
Summary: After an accident transports Killer Croc from one animated universe to another, he finds a shot at trying to fix his career for the better, obtains some interesting connections along the way, and even falls in love with someone he didn't even expect he could possibly tolerate. Currently Rated T, may upgrade to Rated M due to violence. Killer Crocx?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the canon characters in here; characters from the Batman franchise belong to DC Comics, Warner Brothers, etc.

Note: This will be an AU where a character from _The Batman_ universe will be thrown into _The New Batman Adventures_ universe. Also, I'm debating whether or not to have more than just the one character move from one universe to the other. Anyway, here you go, and I may or may not throw in an OC for future use.

For the sake of understanding the timeline, _The Batman_ universe is set one year after the season finale and _The New Batman Adventures_ is set a few years after _Batman: Mystery of the Batwoman_. On top of all this, I will be making quite a few pairings alongside the main pairing, which I will let you guess soon enough.

PS: Don't give me too many flames for the poor French, I'm doing the best I can to get it right, so constructive criticism would be most helpful.

PPS: For those of you that had read my other Batman Fic, unfortunately I have lost my motivation to write it anymore, and I have put it hiatus at a later time in favor of writing this fanfic.

Gotham City, 2009, 2200 hours, Joker's Warehouse

The Joker gave a wild cackle of glee as he was slammed into the wall of the warehouse, ignoring the fact that he had quite a few bruises and some bleeding from getting savagely beaten by his attacker.

"I'm giving you two choices, clown; get out of town for the rest of yer miserable life, or I'll kill you and leave ya in the harbor." His attacker growled, claws digging into his vest and shirt with ease, already tearing the fabric horrendously.

"Hahahahaha, what makes you think I'll do that, Lizard Face?" Joker said back to the scaly face, ignoring the sharp teeth in front of him as he gave another howl of laughter.

Suddenly having a moment of seriousness, he asked "And why the hell do you need me gone? Surely you haven't teamed up with the good guys to stop me, have you?"

Growling, Killer Croc raised him higher against the wall, enjoying the sounds of unforgiving metal scraping the clown's back, which was nothing compared to the pleasure he gained seeing the Clown Prince of Crime wince in pain. "Not on yer life, Joker. Though I will easily admit that I hate yer guts as much as that drugged up ape Bane and the Bat. Why? Because unlike everyone else, your not in crime for a reason. You're just in it to get some laughs and watch the city go down in your gas, out of a sick, twisted sense of humor."

Finally pivoting about he threw the Joker, sending him into a pile of crates. Slowly he walked to his fallen enemy, drawing an old .45 pistol from a beaten shoulder holster. The safety was flicked off, the sound clearly audible throughout the silence surrounding him.

The Joker slowly raised his face, only to stare at end of the barrel of that same pistol.

"Why are you doing this?" the Joker slowly said, finally feeling something he had not felt in a long time; fear.

"Because I'm tired of runnin' from everyone," Croc said quietly. "The cops, the gangs, the Bat and his lot, the whole lot of 'em. I'm cleanin' up every loose end I can find before goin' underground to spend the rest of my life in the sewers. Nobody in their right mind will accept a gator man for a job, let alone an Arkham convict like me. The best I can hope for is a life where I can be left alone and not worry about a SWAT team leading me back into the loony bin because of my record."

Leaning down to look the Joker in the eye, he added "And I've already dealt with some former bosses; two gang lords dead, Bane's in prison in South America, and the Penguin made a deal where I have exclusive access to one of his more private booths at the Iceberg Lounge, a life-time supply of free food, and the ability to keep a secret in exchange for his life, which left me with my henchmen and you."

Giving a toothy grin to him, he said "And the henchmen are not going to be talking soon when their brains are full of lead."

Getting ready to pull the trigger, the Joker said solemnly, raising his hands "Fine, I give up, you can kill me."

But before he could grant the clown's death wish, the insane criminal bounced up in front of him, saying "But first I must give you my farewell gift!"

Cocking a scaled eyebrow, Killer Croc wasn't sure if this was legitimate or whether some evil trick was about to befall him. He was fairly sure it was the latter, but alas his curiosity bit him harder than he thought.

"Show me, clown, before I blow yer brains out." The reptile man stated bluntly, prodding him in the chest with his loaded pistol.

Silently the man gave yet another of his signature grins before heading off towards the middle of the warehouse. Upon coming to a rather large crate the Joker came to a stop. Slapping the side firmly the crate fell apart, exposing an unusual machine that Croc could not make heads or tails out of.

"What in the name of God is that thing?" he questioned, already glaring at the clown for some sign of trickery.

"Why, it's a machine I stole it out from under the nose of Black Mask! Apparently it must've been pretty important to Skull Face; he tried to chase me down for months before I killed off enough of his hit-men for him to give up. Can't say I blame the bugger; if it's from LexCorp, it must be something big!"

The name jogged his memory, before saying "So what, some big machine from Supermanville is right here, what's the big deal about it?"

"Well, if it helps, I do believe it will help turn you back into a normal human being, my dear Croc."

Croc faltered, almost dropping the gun were it not the basic body instincts ingrained into him years ago kicking into gear.

"Yer bullshitting me, Joker." He sneered, raising his gun again. "This is just another one of yer tricks, and I'm not buying it fer a minute."

"But surely you would like to at least give it a spin?" Joker said with a grin, pointing into the center, which looked to be a circular middle with some sort of capsule above it. "I know if I trick you that that gun of yours can shoot me through the glass, so I'm sure that even if you die you'll take me with ya."

Grumbling, Croc weighed his chances before finally saying "Fine, but if you try and gas me I guarantee you'll be full of holes before you take a step."

It was his dream come true; a shot at a relatively normal life. To be human, oh to be human, something he thought was an impossibility ever since that experiment went wrong in the labs. He had never expected a shot at regaining his humanity for good, to not have to hide away from prying eyes. But the chance was too good to pass up, for better or for worse.

Slowly moving to the center of the machine while making sure to keep facing the Joker, he finally got to the center, while the Joker pushed a button and the capsule came down, enclosing the reptilian criminal inside.

Pressing another button, Croc suddenly felt a pulling sensation, and fired off a shot at the Joker before he fell.


	2. Chapter 2

_Note: Sorry for it being so short, but chapter three should be significantly longer. As always, read, review, and feel tree to give me constructive criticism._

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Gotham City, 2210 hours, Joker's Warehouse

The Joker yelped as the bullet broke a hole in the capsule and came to rest on the control panel, inches away from his fingers, before recoiling after the fact as sparks flew from the shattered panel.

Finally, that was another problem solved, and this time he may have solved it for good!

Then he heard a loud bang as he saw smoke fill the capsule. Knowing he would have to finish Croc off, he grabbed a Joker-gas gun and shuffled over. Pushing the capsule over he aimed his gun into the smoke and waited for it to clear; he would enjoy the feeling of terror in Croc's eyes when he realized that he wouldn't be leaving the world alive….

Unknown

Falling, that was what he felt as Croc saw a dazzling display of lights hit him, a mass of reds and blacks and yellows, similar to the background of Gotham City when looked upon from afar.

Realizing he had some control over his actions, he put the safety on his gun back on and shoved it into the holster hidden by his vest, knowing that at this rate he had no use for it.

Looking around, it looked like he was in some sort of portal, the colors slowly changing, the bright reds replaced by grey and even darker shades of red.

Then he couldn't believe his eyes as he saw someone else in the portal with him, rapidly coming towards him. His eyes only caught the person clearly for a few moments, but they registered each other at the same time.

Croc stared at the person. Tall, no shirt, torn jeans, green skin, sharp teeth and yellow eyes with slits for iris's. Were it not for the fact that it was more…human, he couldn't have pictured it to be anything else.

"Me?" they both said, the word stretching out as they shot by each other, heading away from each other once again. Then he saw a black hole at the end of the portal, and he braced himself before it reached him.

Then everything went black.

Gotham City, 2213 hours, Joker's Warehouse

Joker almost pulled the trigger before he took his finger away from it. As the silhouette became clearer, he knew for a fact that it couldn't possibly be Killer Croc. It was too human a silhouette; no tail, no snout, a general homo sapien-like shape. It was impossible.

Then the smoke cleared and he gave a frown. It definitely was not Croc.

Keeping the gun pointed at whoever the person was, he said "Now who on Earth are you, scaly?"

Looking up in a mixture of surprise, shock, and a little bit of hatred, the stranger said "It's Killer Croc to you."

Giving a bark of laughter, the Joker suppressed the urge to roll on the floor in laughter as he said "Yeah right, your not Croc. I just got rid of him a minute ago."

Croc looked up at him with a glare as he said "I am Killer Croc, you clown, and that's impossi…"

But the criminal was not able to finish his sentence as he was hit on the head with the butt of the gas gun.

Before he could recover the Joker pulled out a boxing glove gun and fired it, slamming right into his reptilian face and knocking him unconscious.

"Hmmm, how to deal with this obvious Killer Croc imposter….or maybe…"

Joker suddenly had a realization "This is Croc! It may not have made him completely human, but it sure made it less of a gator than he was before, hahahaha!"

Looking around, he said "But first, I'm going to have to find a place to keep him quiet…."

Realizing the warehouse was a former meat processing plant, he grabbed the unconscious Croc and started dragging him to a side room.

A few months of hibernation in a freezer storage room would do him a lot of good while he started plans on turning that infernal contraption into a weapon of some sort…


	3. Chapter 3

Gotham City, Date Unknown (Sorry, nobody gives a realistic date for the series :P)

Killer Croc groaned as he got up, shaking his head violently as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

The familiar smells and sounds of a sewer permeated his mind, putting him at ease as he slowly opened his eyes.

Looking around, he saw a couch with a beaten pillow and blanket, presumably a make shift bed. A table, two chairs, a refrigerator and some form of beat-up dresser filled up the immediate area, with the far end open with a sudden drop.

Slowly getting up, he started to walk over to the edge. Looking down, he saw a large pool of sewer water and underneath was a sewage pipe, large enough that he could easily fit through.

Turning around he then saw the posters and newspaper clippings. He recoiled, taking a step away and almost falling off into the water below before regaining his footing.

Pictures of a tall man, green, scaly skin, yellow, reptilian eyes, and sharp clawed hands and feet. It was none other than the being he had passed in the portal.

Croc vigorously shook his head, not being able to believe what he was seeing. If what was before his eyes were true, then he may have…no, it's impossible, there couldn't possibly be…multiple versions of himself, different universes of himself.

Looking up he knew for a fact he would have to see things for himself, or else he would possibly lose whatever sanity he had left.

Jumping into the sewer below, he slipped into the sewage drain and headed up.

Slowly pushing the manhole cover aside, he reluctantly peeked out into the alleyway. Somewhat familiar, he knew for a fact that he couldn't possibly be in the future if the buildings on either side were made of brick and smoke permeated the sky above.

Looking about to make sure nobody was in the immediate vicinity, he pulled himself out of his manhole.

Finding a large amount of dirty and discarded clothes about, he pulled out an oversized trench coat with stains on it and a beat-up fedora to hide his identity for the time being. Wrapping his tail awkwardly around his waist, he walked out of the alleyway and into the street.

The sight before him amazed him. Mobs of people flocked the street's, all of them seeming to have dressed in styles ranging from the 30's to the early 80's, though from the looks of it the 30's and 40's were dominant over all else, the massive numbers of coats, fedora's, and knee-length dresses attesting to the fact over anything else.

Cars' from the 30's to the 50's rolled down the street, and a train shot by above him. Finally, a large blimp flew overhead, with a few small, primitive helicopters with police imprinted on their fuselage catching his attention.

Looking around, he realized that chances were this other universe he was in was back in time.

But the largest shocker was picking up a fallen newspaper that had fallen by him. Picking it up, it boldly read in gothic lettering _Gotham Gazette_, and the front headline said in all capitals "BATMAN DEFEAT'S PENGUIN, THIRD TIME THIS YEAR"

He felt the paper slip through his fingers, unable to comprehend that he wasn't just in a separate universe; he was in a separate Gotham.

He took a couple paces back into the alleyway before slumping against the brick wall, his mind going a thousand directions.

His enemy was still at work in Gotham, which no doubt meant that the other villains were at work as well. All of them; Poison Ivy, Mr. Freeze, Bane, Penguin, and Joker. The whole lot of them were most likely about in this godforsaken city.

Then another thought jolted him. Then if the other person he had passed had been the Killer Croc from this universe, did that mean they had switched places? Had he essentially replaced this universe's version of himself?

He clutched his head as he tried to comprehend what was happening. It was too much to take in, too much to handle at once. Different universe, different time, but the same people…

It took him quite a few hours to stop his head from spinning, but he finally settled down to try and think straight. And then it hit him.

Everything was different. Which meant that nobody knew of his plans. Maybe…he could start over. Start anew. Maybe even try and go straight, even if the chances of that were still slim.

Getting up, he pondered his options. Would he just become a recluse, and stay underground for his life? Or maybe get hired for a somewhat legitimate job? A guard? A bouncer, maybe? He was certain someone would most likely find a use for him as hired muscle outside of criminal circles.

But for now he knew that he would have to wait. He would have to explore this city, come to understand it, because even while it was Gotham, it was a very different, older Gotham, one with different rules, different laws. Something that he knew he would have to know and understand before doing anything.

But he would learn, and as one of the oldest mantras drilled into him came into his mind, he knew what he would have to do; Adapt, Improvise, and Overcome.


	4. Chapter 4

_Well thanks guys for reading this fic, but unfortunately I'm gonna have to start slowing down on adding new chapters as my updating catches up to how much I'm writing, which is less and less as I go further into the AU and try and keep personalities as close to how I want them, either as original as possible or like Croc, who is somewhat different but still holds most of his usual principles._

_Anyway, read and review, because I appreciate reviews and/or constructive criticism._

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Gotham City, Iceberg Lounge, 1900 hours, two weeks later

Lark sighed as she saw Jay and Raven lead some more guests to their seats in the Iceberg Lounge. Among them were quite a few gang lords asking for a private booth. She knew that they were going to have to comply anyway, or else they would be facing quite a few guns pointed their way.

With the loss of their boss the Penguin, as well as the majority of their security crew due to Batman apprehending them, they barely had enough guards to safely deal with their backdoor deals, let alone dealing with their "legitimate business" with the lounge and restaurant. If they could, she knew Jay, Raven, and herself could do the job, but then they would lose their appeal for being a waitress or hostess, because who wanted someone getting them food or seating them that could kick their ass, even if it wouldn't do jack squat against one man with a fast shooting hand? Besides, then the cops would be showing up at the lounge far more than they normally do, and even in their current state she knew seeing a patrol car coming by every half hour was far too much attention as it was.

Sighing again, she didn't notice the large individual walking up to the front desk until he cleared his throat.

Looking up, she saw a large man, hidden under his coat and hat, only seeing two yellow eyes looking down at her.

"Hello, did you make a reservation, sir?" the black-haired henchwoman inquired, fixing her bowler hat as she waited.

"No, ma'am." The figure replied. "Though I am here to inquire as to obtaining a possible job, if that would be possible, _cher_."

Cocking an eyebrow, Lark asked "I don't recall our boss or any of our employees leaving a job posting for us."

Lowering his head, the mysterious figure said "Ah, but I have noticed you seem to be lacking in…muscle."

Cocking his head at the private booths off to the side, he said "I know those boys over there aren't crawfish straight out of the pond, but I'm fairly certain they've been getting away with a bit too much since yer boss took a trip to the loony bin, am I right, _donzelle_?"

Looking at him strangely, she mulled it over for a bit. As right-hand woman to the Penguin, she had a fair amount of power to make some decisions, and judging from the brains this man had, she knew refusal would be …unwise.

"So what, you want be hired muscle here?" she questioned. "We don't exactly like to advertise that seeing as we try and look legitimate here."

"Oh, I recognize that. Just plop me anywhere you like, even if it's away from…prying eyes, and I can guarantee you I'll earn my pay here."

Thinking it over for a minute, she asked him "Fine, we'll be paying you by the hour then. When would you like to start?"

Looking at the private booths', he responded, "If you need me to teach some mobsters some manners, I wouldn't mind starting right now, _mademoiselle_."

Looking at the booth, she said with a small smile. "Well, one of Thorne's lieutenants decided not to pay the bill on his meal. He's the guy right there in the red suit, seems to do a lousy job packing a six-shooter under it. I'd be more than willing to pay extra to see him get the boot."

Finally showing some more of his face, she did her best not to recoil as she saw a wide set of rather sharp teeth show up in front of her.

"Very well."

The man then turned away and headed to the booth, looking somewhat out of place amongst the array of dresses, tuxedos, and expensive suits as his trench coat flowed a few inches off the ground.

The lieutenant barely raised his eyes to look at the man before a large, clawed hand grabbed him, tearing into his expensive suit before he was a few feet above his seat, his feet barely touching the soft leather of the booth.

Getting a face full of sharp teeth only inches away from his eyes, the man growled out "I heard ya forgot to pay the bill. Bad manners to forget to pay the tab."

One of the men on the other side of the booth got out and started to draw his gun behind the mystery man, but was knocking off his feet by a six foot tail, the appendage slamming into him twice as he lay on the ground before he lost consciousness.

Turning his face, he quietly but fiercely asked "Anyone else want to end up on the floor?" The other men in the booth stayed silent, unable to move as the guy in the air said "Fine, fine I'll pay the tab!"

Seeing him fumble out a wallet, Croc grabbed it and threw it on the table before saying "And the _mademoiselle_ in charge said she doesn't want to see yer ugly mug again."

With a surge of inhuman strength the lieutenant found himself flying through the air, coming to rest on a table near the front entrance.

Looking up, dazed, he saw the reptile man walking over to him, and his fight or flight instincts came into gear, sending him scrambling for the front door.

Seeing the stir it had caused, Croc was happy that the hat and coat covered most of his bodice, though he knew the tail now hanging out from under the coat gave enough of an impression as he slid it back under, letting it wrap around his waist before heading back to the booth. Eying the lot of them, he said "Any of you forget to pay, you end up like _le cochon_ out there, got it?"

All of them were silent and stared back at him, but all of them gave small, barely perceptible nods, before he turned around and headed back to the head waitress.

Before he had even gotten ten meters to her he heard her call out to her two partners "He's hired! And give him a raise!"

Hiding a toothy grin under the hat, he muttered to himself "Killer Croc is back in business."

A Few Hours Later

Smiling, Croc let his finger flick through the green cash in his hand, enjoying the smell of well-earned money in front of him. The head waitress, who introduced herself later as Lark, gave him a hundred bucks for kicking that _cochon_ out of the lounge, which to him was like hitting the jackpot on the first go around.

Folding the bills and setting them inside one of his vest pockets, he kicked back on the bed that he was lying on, surprised at how good things were.

Lark decided to make a deal with him and start him off slow, having him work the weekend's both in the lounge and out in the backrooms, deciding to see if he would be competent for the job without fully committing him to it. In exchange, she was willing to provide him a room to sleep in and three meals a day for the weekends. If things went well, he may just get the room to himself for quite a while.

Of course he would certainly miss the sewers, it was his home for years, though if this was what he would be living in for his services, he certainly wouldn't refuse it.

Sighing he let his eyelids close, slowly drifting off into sleep on the soft sheet's as he dreamed of a new life, one free of being known as a murderer, a thief, a monster, a criminal; well, he knew he wouldn't be free of the last two for quite a while, but in time he may just be able to free himself from it. Just how though was something he would have to ponder for quite a while.


	5. Chapter 5

Gotham City, Iceberg Lounge, 2130 hours, the next day

"Listen, Lizard Face, I don't have to answer to you! Only person I have to answer to is Two-Face!" the henchman said, hands slamming into the wood table.

Lowering his face to look the man in the eye, he bared his teeth in a terrifying smile.

"Well son, Two-Face isn't here, and he told ya that you needed to trade in those stolen jewels for money, correct?"

The angry lackey nodded slowly, certain he had won.

"And the case right in front of you holds fifty grand, correct?" Croc added.

"Yes, but that's scraps compared to what he normally gets!"

"But he isn't here, asshole, which means you don't get as much, because you're a hired lackey, not a damn Arkham looney with two personalities that makes all his choices with a coin."

Nodding at Jay, who stood next to him, he said "Her partners were more than gracious to give you this, which was a helluva lot more than they were initially willing to give you. So either take it or let the cops find your group with this stolen crap and watch them send you all to Blackgate or Arkham."

Scowling, the man glared at him before finally grabbing the case. "You win this time, but I'll be letting my boss know about this!"

"Go ahead." Croc shot back smoothly, letting his toothy grin show up for a second. "I'm sure he'll be happy to have to deal with another Arkham loony."

The henchman walked out with a huff, slamming the door shut. Sighing, he jerked a thumb at the door and said "Damn, they may get hired for their muscle but they certainly don't have anything upstairs."

Giving a chuckle, Jay replied "Nobody ever said a henchman had to have any sense."

Walking out of the room, the two made sure to lock it before Jay added "By the way, Lark wants to know if you're willing to work overtime. We've got some…special guests showing up for a reserved dinner. They RSVP'ed before Penguin got caught and we don't want to back out of our deal with them. And seeing as we need as much security as we can get, can you pull a shift on one of the upper balconies, provide some surveillance in case we have…unexpected guests?"

Lowering his head to her level, he said quietly "When you mean "unexpected guests", do any of them happen to dress as bats or birds?"

Staying quiet, she said slowly "Maybe, but the chances are slim. News underground tells us our guests are not a big priority on their list, and we're more worried that the Gotham PD has caught a whiff of them and are willing to bringing in some SWAT to take them in."

Raising himself back to his full height, Croc gave a smirk and responded to the offer.

"Give me some firepower, and I'll do the job."

Killer Croc peered down at the main floor of the Iceberg Lounge through the binoculars he was given, noting the large number of gang and mob bosses showing up. Thorne, Falcone, Black Mask, Two-Face, Maroni, even Lark was taking a seat at a large booth off to the side.

Letting his hand pat the side of the M1928A1 Thompson Submachine Gun that he had been issued, he looked up at the windows, as well as scanning the side and back entrances in view. He also noticed Jay and Raven doing the same thing, though they were moving about inconspicuously and were not carrying anywhere near as much firepower as him. He had noted they seemed to use Walther PPK's, which was understandable seeing as their…attire did not accommodate for larger weapons.

While he could not hear what they were saying, he guessed the crime lords below were speaking business, which would most likely drag on for some time. Bad for his attention, but certainly good for his wallet.

A half hour passed without any incident, but he stayed vigilant. From past experience, Croc knew very well that most attacks occurred when your guard was down, and he did not intend to let that happen. His eyes caught a slight movement from the corner of his vision, and he focused in time to see the last bit of fabric pass from view on the outside of a rooftop window.

Deciding to stay as calm as possible, he slowly brought his hands to the submachine gun and slapped the 50-round drum to make sure it was loaded before racking the charging handle, slamming a .45-caliber cartridge into the weapon.

Turning his large radio on and setting it on Raven's channel, he called her up and said sharply "Get to Lark immediately. You may just have a bat in your belfry."

Shouldering the Thompson, he waited for another glimpse of whichever caped hero was up on the roof to show themselves as he caught a glance of Jay and Raven running over to the table.

Making sure his trench coat and hat were on, Croc knew he couldn't give away his identify just yet.

Thankfully none of the criminals seemed at all panicked as they all seemed to start making calls or making a few hand gestures. From the walls of the rooms he saw dozens of goons start moving, the majority of them going for the stairs while some made a beeline for the front and back entrances, most likely to fetch some escape vehicles.

Getting a radio call from Lark, he heard her say "Stay where you are and give us a warning if any unexpected guests arrive. I'd much prefer we deal with this without having the police show up because of reports of gunfire," before she finished the call and he was left to his own devices again.

Growling when he realized that he wouldn't be doing much this time around, he waited and bided his time as the goons made for the rooftop.

Truth be told, while he may hate the Batman for sending him to Arkham Asylum multiple times over, he did recognize the fact that he was a necessity for the city, because without him crime would run amok, without restraint, and chaos would rule instead of order. For Gotham City to work at its best, it had to walk that thin line where the crime was balanced by justice, where thugs and gangsters were balanced with police and the caped crusader. He may not like how the system worked, but it was far better than the alternatives of a city with uncontrolled crime and a city with no crime at all.

He was drawn out of his self-thought as he saw some of the gang bosses goons show up at the window. Getting another radio call, he picked it up to have Jay tell him "We're on the roof. Whoever was here was gone, though you're right; someone left a message."

Fifteen minutes later, when the group got back down to the main floor, and Croc now amongst them, he heard the message read aloud:

_"We're watching you, and we know your plans for the next big job you all are going to pull over the course of the next few weeks."_

The message was signed at the bottom with a Batarang that had pinned it onto the rooftop. Within minutes the gang lords and mobsters had dispersed, leaving the Lounge empty as Killer Croc gazed about him. He knew he would have to watch his back too, and if the Bat family he knew from his former universe was anything to go by, they were able to dismantle any operation that was brought to fruition if they so much as caught a whiff of it. They were like bloodhounds they were so canny.

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_Just a heads up for you guys, expect me to take a little while before posting another chapter because I'm busy looking for a Beta Reader to look through my chapters as they enter a more AU type of setting. Read, review, and I'll be happy to hear some constructive feedback from my readers._


	6. Chapter 6

_Hope you guys enjoy the chapter. Read, review, and enjoy._

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Gotham City, early morning

Killer Croc strode quietly down an alleyway, his coat and hat covering his figure as he strode towards the street.

It had been months since he had first arrived here, and nearly two months since he had been hired at the Iceberg Lounge. For a bouncer and hired muscle he was getting quite a bit of money to work with for little actual work.

However even after traveling through the city for months, he still had much to learn. He had memorized most of the larger sewer routes underneath the city, but he still had mazes of smaller routes and sub-routes to learn, something that would take time. And while the layout to the city was similar to the one he came from, he still had to learn the finer things in navigation, the locations of gang territory and which ones to avoid and which ones he could handle going through. He had already had to knock out multiple hoodlums that had decided to take him on, and the amateurs were on the floor in seconds. However, doing that caught attention, something he much preferred to avoid doing.

Walking down the street, amongst the crowd, he glanced at all the stores, some of them the same from where he came from, others different and foreign to him.

Buying a pastrami sandwich off a guy selling them from a stand on the street, he was thankful he wore gloves this time around as he paid the man.

Tearing into the meat-filled sandwich, he enjoyed the warm taste and flavor as he ignored the early autumn chill.

Stepping into another alleyway to head back towards the Lounge, he paused as he heard noises up ahead. Finishing off the food by throwing it into his maw, he slowly moved towards the noise.

Reaching an intersection, he peered around the corner to see a sight that he certainly wasn't expecting.

A burly man was thrown into a pile of trash cans, sending the contents flying as a dozen more continued fighting, fists, pipes, knives, and baseball bats flying through the air.

And in the middle of it was Batgirl. The female crime fighter held her own as she delivered a kick to one mans ribs, pivoting around to punch another man in the face before jumping out of the circle they had made around her, landing a few feet away from them after performing a backwards flip in midair.

They rushed her again, and she weaved amongst them, landing a punch or kick against them before breaking off.

Croc decided to stay, observing from the shadows as he made observations about the fight. The men were decently armed and decent fighters, most of them not making any major weaknesses for the female bat to take advantage of. However, none of them were proficient enough to get close enough to cause damage to her, leaving the two groups at an impasse.

Another man went down, kicked onto the ground and trampled upon by his peers, unconscious as the Batgirl rolled away, outmaneuvering her opponents with graceful ease.

A batarang flashed through the air, and a man dropped his baseball bat as the remaining gangsters went after her.

She kicked the legs out from under two of them as they came up to her, using the momentum to move back and throw a smoke grenade into the crowd.

The group as a whole was brought to a stop as they stumbled about, most of them slowly finding their way out of the smoke as she dived into it. Croc heard multiple punches, kicks, and cracks as Croc heard a body slump to the ground, and then another person slamming into the brick wall comprising a side of the alleyway, followed by the crack of two heads getting slammed together and the figures of two men crumpling to the ground..

'_This girls good….'_ He thought to himself, watching some of the men get put down swiftly and efficiently. _'She's certainly got guts and knows how to throw a punch. Uses her back, not her arm, so she definitely knows what she's doing. She'd certainly give the one back in the old days a run for her money.'_

He paused for a second, understanding what he had just said; the old days? Was that what it was to be, the old days?

Then he was snapped out of his own self-questioning as he heard a loud "thunk" sound and a body slumping to the ground.

Turning to look, he saw the remaining gang members had gotten out of the smoke, which had mostly dissipated, and were now in a circle, looking at someone on the ground.

"Did we get 'er?" one of them asked, holding a crowbar.

"She's knocked out like a light, lets finish her." Another one said, the sound of a switchblade being opened clearly heard from his position.

"She's mine, asshole." A third man said, pushing himself into the circle. From Croc's position he could see the guy pull out a revolver, bringing it down to point at the unconscious Batgirl and cocked the hammer.

Croc felt a pit grow in his stomach. While he was a criminal, he still had a code he followed: a sick, twisted and criminal one; but a code nonetheless. And one of the rules in the code was you never killed a worthy opponent while they were out. If they were awake, looking you in the eye, and they put up a fight, he certainly had no qualms of putting them down. But unconscious, on the ground, and having taken out a fair portion of the gang without assistance, that was not something he'd just stand and watch.

Before he even realized he had done it his hand had gone into his vest as he drew his 1911 pistol, flicking the safety off and lining up the sights on the gunman's head. Releasing his breath he squeezed the trigger.

The bullet flew through the air and went in one end of the man's head and out the other, the body crumpling to the ground with blood pouring out of his head.

The remaining hoodlums turned in his direction and the man with the switchblade was put down as well with a bullet to the chest.

Walking out of the shadows, Croc leveled the pistol at them. "Anyone else want a bullet in them, boys?" he asked flatly, keeping his voice neutral and level to show he knew what he was doing. The remaining gang members slowly backed away before they turned and ran.

Snorting in disgust, he kept the gun out until he could no longer hear their footsteps and flicked the safety back on, holstering the gun under his coat.

Walking over to the fallen woman, he brought his fingers to her neck. He felt a pulse, which was good for him to know, since the last thing he needed was to be found with a dead body, let alone the body of one of the Bat family.

Gingerly pushing her bright red hair out of the way he let his hand touch the back of her head, feeling a bump on the back of it, and knew she would most likely have a headache whenever she decided to wake up.

Standing up, he turned to walk away, until his brain decided to argue with him.

'_You're leaving her here in the alley? Don't you think the gang will be back to finish the job later?'_ his conscience asked him, but he rebuffed it.

'_Not my damn problem.'_

'_Then what if someone found her identity? Wouldn't you be putting her in danger, as well as the rest of her allies?'_

'_Not my damn problem. Someone finds her, I'm not responsible.'_

Right as he got to the intersection, his conscience finally asked him _'What would Meredith think?'_

He stopped in his tracks. Growling, his fist slammed into the brick wall, tearing some of the material away as Croc tried to control himself.

"Don't _ever_ speak of her…" he growled out, not giving a damn that he was talking to himself.

Meredith Van Zeyl, a woman that had won his heart and broke it a long time ago.

He remembered when he was in his past life; listening to the Gotham City Television network and hearing her speak about his criminal exploits.

She had been different from the rest; instead of referring to him as an animal, or a monster, she referred to him by his actual name more often than his criminal alias. She had not made jokes about his teeth, or how his skin would look good on a purse, but treated him like a human being on television.

He had become infatuated with her, eventually deciding to go on his own crime spree just to obtain gifts to give her when an opportunity presented itself.

When the Batman and his two cohorts showed up to stop him, that opportunity was done faster than he expected. Of course, even he wasn't stupid enough to recognize that a six and a half foot tall alligator man barging into your home wasn't exactly positive towards a peaceful and romantic environment, but he did it anyways. Chocolates, a stuffed bear, roses, balloons, he had stolen the whole shebang when he pushed through her doorway after she had answered it.

She had seemed shocked at the whole prospect, but at least she had listened to him, which was more awe-inspiring than any speech that he could have possibly made on the fly right there. Of course, Batman and the police arrived to apprehend him, and after dealing with rifles pointed at him and a chair nearly getting thrown, he distinctly remembered how Meredith reasoned with him, asking him if the man who was about to fight them was the same man that walked through the door.

"Where was the man that walked through that door with chocolates and roses in hand? Be that man, Waylon, for me."

He would never forget those words, surrendering to the police and getting cuffed as Batman and his cohorts questioned the news reporter.

What he hadn't expected was to be given a farewell from her. He cherished that memory for months, when she told him good luck and gave him a kiss on the cheek. It had brought a smile on his face that was not in greed or in pleasure of someone's misery, but from actual happiness.

Then shit hit the fan and he saw another news reporter propose to her on live television, and she had accepted it. He remembered throwing the remote into the television, followed by throwing the TV into the water and tearing his own home apart in a fit of rage. That had of course led to him going on a rampage through Gotham, taking the combined force of half the GCPD, the Batman, Robin, and Batgirl to restrain him enough to get hurled into Blackgate. He had gone so berserk that many of the cops suggested he get moved to Arkham, but apparently the Batman of all people suggested he stay locked up in a maximum security cell in the Penitentiary.

But that had been a long time ago, and a memory best left forgotten.

Mulling over his thoughts, his conscience wouldn't leave him alone, and the guilt finally started to set in.

"Fine, this one time. Next time she can rot in the river if this shit happens again."

Turning around, Croc noted the two bodies and decided to deal with them first. Pulling open a manhole he shoved the two bodies into the sewer water, content to let them drift away from the crime scene before closing the manhole up and looking at the still unconscious Batgirl.

Slamming a fist into the brick wall, he muttered, "I never thought I'd see the day that I'd have to save a Bat's ass."

Taking off his coat and hat, his clothes easily covered the smaller figure and disfigured her shape, before slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Thinking it over he knew there weren't many places to go. Muttering to himself the entire time, he turned to start walking down the street, hoping to whoever the hell was up there a cop wouldn't show up.


	7. Chapter 7

A Few hours later…

Barbara Gordon groaned as she started to wake up, her head pounding as she brought her hand up to the back of her head, brushing her hair aside before rubbing the injured area. Feeling her mask was still on, she took it as a good sign that nobody had discovered her identity, especially after getting knocking in the head in that alleyway…

Then her eyes snapped open as she realized she wasn't lying in the middle of an alley, but on some sheets.

Her upper body snapped up, only to find herself staring at a small mirror on the far end of the room. Before she could register that she was in a room, she brought her hands to her head when the pounding sensation returned through her brain, groaning as she realized she would have a headache for quite a while.

"I suggest you grab the ice pack on the nightstand, _petite batte_." A voice told her, and she immediately scanned the room, her gaze coming to rest on a seated figure in the corner.

Seeing the yellow eyes, the greenish-tinted skin and the tail resting on the ground, she cleverly concealed the shock she had at her captor's transformation. The last time she saw him, he was far more…human.

"Killer Croc…" she growled, balling her hands into fists before another headache went through her head. Shaking it away, she asked "So why did you kidnap me?"

Giving a chuckle, Croc retorted "Ah, far from it, Bat. If it weren't for me you'd be in quite a bit of trouble in that alleyway, with a group of _cochons_ trying to kill you amongst other possible despicable things they could've done to your unconscious body."

Giving another nod at the nightstand, he added, "I seriously suggest you grab that icepack."

Reluctantly she complied, feeling some relief come to her head as she applied the cold item to herself. Starting to open her mouth to voice her first question, he beat her to the punch.

"If you wondering whether or not I know your identity, I can tell you I did not take off the mask. All of us have some secrets we would rather not leave uncovered."

Taking a few moments to enjoy the relief from both the icepack and from not having been identified as the daughter of the Police Commissioner, she questioned him. "Why did you do it then? I'm certainly not the first person you would want to be associated with."

Getting out of his seat, the criminal took a few steps forward, into the moonlight streaming through the large window that had been left open.

"You are very observant, _donzelle_, then again, if you were not, then you wouldn't be a part of the Batman's team, would you?" he countered, letting a toothy smile grace his face. Turning to gaze at the window, he finally said "Even us criminals have a sense of honor. A sick and twisted one to you, but there is one nonetheless. And I at least have the courtesy of killing someone so they're awake to see me do it. Putting a bullet through your head while you were down certainly did not seem fair to me, especially considering your presumably long list of accomplishments with the Batman."

Starting to get confused, she responded. "That can't be all there is to you doing that, though. Why did you save me instead of finishing me off on the street? If what you say is true, you could have just as easily beat me awake before killing me."

Turning to rest a hand against the dresser under the mirror, he avoided her gaze as he finally answered her. "I may be a freak, a monster to this city, but I am far from stupid. I recognize that this city needs not just villains, but heroes as well. Without the other they bring a place to ruin and disrupt the balance of life. Too many criminals and nobody would live here. Too many heroes and it would become a dull utopia. For Gotham City to maintain the persona it has held for centuries, it must walk that fine line that allows the criminal and the good to bring this place into balance. When one gets to powerful, the other brings them back into line. Even I recognize the importance of that. If Batman and his team were not around, how long do you think this place would last if the Joker had his way?"

The statement itself caused Batgirl to feel a shiver go down her spine while Croc went silent.

Looking at him, she said sharply "That was a surprising amount of wisdom considering you're a career criminal."

Turning to look at her, he shot back "And that was a surprising amount of stupidity to take on over a dozen armed men at once and expect to come out on top."

That made her fall silent, and he threw in darkly "One thing you should do well to remember is to _never_ underestimate your opponent. One slip up and you could be dead. If I hadn't happened to be walking down that alley you could have very well died out there."

Turning back to set his clawed hands on the dresser, he stared at his visage in the mirror, before growling out "I do believe you have outstayed your welcome, Batgirl. The window is right there."

Hearing her get off the bed, he certainly wasn't expecting her to put a hand on his shoulder.

"Then I should at least say thank you, Waylon."

Refusing to even turn to look at her, he continued to stare at himself in the mirror, his clawed hands digging into the dresser.

"Maybe the criminal world isn't as heartless as Batman makes it out to be."

Before he could respond to her that he certainly did not have a heart, she was gone, the only sign of her departure the curtains shifting about from being touched on the way out the window.

Shaking his head, he muttered to himself "You're going insane, Croc, an insane fool at the rate you're going."

Shutting the window, he retired for the night, deciding it would be best to completely forget the events of tonight. He couldn't afford to look soft to his peers if they found out he helped one of the Bat's.

The last thing that went through his mind was his respect for her tenacity. _'At least she had the balls to take on thirteen of those cochons and go down fighting…'_.


	8. Chapter 8

_Here's another chapter, and just as a forewarning I'll be taking a while to post the next chapter because I normally try and get two or three chapters ahead of the latest chapter I post so I can look over the chapters a bit and post them one at a time. I'll be taking a little while to write out the next chapter or so because it lays down a lot of groundwork for later chapters. Anyway's, read, review, and enjoy._

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Gotham City, Iceberg Lounge, the next day

Croc walked along the rear loading ramp of the Iceberg Lounge, .45 openly displayed in its shoulder holster as he checked to make sure everything was being loaded correctly. Noting that some of the hired help was slowing down he decided to bribe them.

Pulling out a few twenty-dollar bills, he let them be openly displayed in his hand before saying "Whoever get's done loading the fastest gets a few extra twenties in their pocket tonight."

That sent the men into overdrive, the trucks suddenly getting packed at a lightning pace, and at the rate they were going they would be out of here ahead of schedule.

Looking around, Croc noted his visage also helped in motivating the hired hands. Without the coat and hat his claws, teeth, and tail seemed to help intimidate the men to work harder. That and a nice scar along the left of his face certainly helped give him some character.

Tapping his foot impatiently, he ordered for some of the men to get in the driver's seat while others closed themselves inside the trucks, providing onboard security for what they had inside.

But before he could get into the shotgun seat a trio of black cars came around the corner and gunfire erupted. The trucks were peppered with rounds as one of the hired hands went down with a trio of rounds in his torso.

Diving away and rolling behind some crates he drew his pistol and returned fire, lining the sights up with a driver's window and pulling the trigger.

He must have hit the person behind the wheel as the driver twisted the car and sent it crashing into the loading wall, the front end of the car smashed to bits as smoke came out and two more men stumbled out, armed with submachine guns before taking a bullet apiece from Croc.

Then a shootout began as the other two cars came to a complete stop and four more guys got out, firing their Tommy Guns at them. Croc's own men returned fire with an array of pistols, with one man pulling out a sawn-off shotgun and blasting out shells of buckshot with it.

Croc snarled as he saw the man behind the operation. A certain balding man with a gangster-styled puppet was amongst the shooters, a demonic cackle coming from the smaller of the two figures.

"Somebody shoot Scarface's wooden brains out!" he hollered, trying to find a clear shot at the infamous mobster but instead having to live with putting down another shooter with a trio of .45 rounds to the chest.

His 1911 locking back empty he dumped the magazine onto the ground, shoving in his reserve magazine as another of his hired hands went down and he saw a familiar object sail through the air.

"Grenade, get down!" he roared at the top of his lungs, already diving further behind the crates and making as small a figure as he could before it went off.

The boom and explosions that followed rattled the reptilian man's frame, before he looked up to see one of the two trucks ablaze.

"Everyone get the hell away!" he roared, knowing full well the gas tank could go off at any moment. Then he returned his attention to the remaining shooters and lined up his sights on Scarface before pulling the trigger.

Instead his aim was slightly off and the round slammed into the Ventriloquist's hip, sending him twirling to the side, behind one of the black cars, but Croc had already moved onto another target, putting two more shots into one of the remaining shooters.

Hearing some yells he saw the remaining shooter fall back and open a door, piling into one of the two remaining vehicles before the two cars started to drive in reverse, Croc firing shots into the windshield of one of them the entire time before his gun clicked empty once more and the two cars vanished into the street.

Turning around Croc was able to catch the explosion just in time, the shockwave knocking him off his feet and landing him on his ass.

Cursing and swearing the entire time, Cajun criminal got onto his feet in time to hear the sounds of police sirens, and seconds later the Gotham City Police Department had arrived in multiple squad cars.

Turning to face the sirens he came face to face with an older, wider cop with a grey trench coat and a matching fedora. If it weren't for the .357 magnum revolver pointed at his face he would have certainly found it humorous.

"Your under arrest, freak job." The man snapped at him, his mouth moving to chew on the end of a toothpick.

Behind the man he could see at least a half dozen officers coming out, most of them with Colt 1911's with a pair of pump shotguns completing the array of weapons in the general vicinity.

Groaning in defeat he set his unloaded gun on the ground before raising his large arms above his head, already knowing by heart that they would tell him his rights while they clamped the cuff's on him.

"Fan-fucking-tastic…." He muttered out as he realized that chances were he would most likely get blamed for the mess and get a few months in Blackgate Penitentiary, though that would be if he was lucky.


	9. Chapter 9

_Hey guys, I know it's been a while but I've got what I think is my longest chapter so far out, though now I'm slowing down because of college. I'll try to bring a chapter every week or two, but I can't make any guarantee's, especially as I try and flesh out the next few chapters and try and not make them absolutely noncanon in every sense of the word. Constructive criticism is appreciated._

* * *

Gotham City, GCPD Headquarters, 0630 hours

"Listen Croc, we know you were at the scene of the crime, so just 'fess up that you blew up those trucks!" Detective Harvey Bullock snapped at him from across the table, a look of definite anger displayed on his features.

"I already told you Fatso, I didn't blow those trucks up." Croc shot back irritably, trying to keep his voice down at a reasonable level. "Like I said before, Scarface and some of his goon's ambushed us and decided to shoot the place up before chucking a grenade in one of our trucks, setting them ablaze."

"Well we certainly know you were in a shootout, seeing as we have at least six bodies that weren't burnt to a crisp, all of them with .45-caliber holes in them."

Bullock gave an evil smile as he leaned towards Croc, a grin starting to set in as he said "And we currently have a Colt 1911 in .45 ACP that we know you have used, fingerprints and all."

Snorting, Croc responded, "Scarface and his group all had Thompson submachine guns, and all of them shoot .45 ACP as well. And judging from the number of bullet casings at the scene of the crime, I doubt I could have shot all of them."

Pointing outside the interrogation room, Croc continued "I know for a fact my pistol had two seven rounds magazines at the scene. With one in the chamber, that's a total of fifteen rounds of ammunition I could have possibly used, but I definitely know you'll find a helluva lot more than fifteen .45 casings at that crime scene."

His grin fading to a snarl, Bullock still snapped at him. "Even with only fifteen rounds, that can still trace you to the scene of the crime, and we can convict you on first degree murder charges!"

"It was in self-defense."

"Like hell it was!"

"You expect me to cower in a corner while I'm getting shot at by experienced criminals with automatic weapons and grenades?!" Croc finally roared out, glaring at the arrogant bastard across from him. "I'm sure you sure as hell would be returning fire in that same situation, _cochon_!"

They had been going at it for hours, Bullock stubbornly saying he was guilty while he had stubbornly denied the charges, continuing with his alibi that he fired in self-defense.

The interrogation was suddenly interrupted by two police officers walking to escort Croc out of the room.

"Get Lizard Face into a cell." Bullock snapped out authoritatively, a smirk on his face as it looked like he had won this battle.

Shooting him daggers Croc let himself out, walking past the cops and forcing them to run after him to keep up a presence of control.

Turning down the hall and ignoring the police officers giving him looks he went down towards the cell block, not even bothering considering to try and escape, both due to a combination of knowing he was innocent and that he would most likely come out like Swiss cheese in the morgue if he decided to fight them all. His hide may stop pistol rounds but he knew his soft underbelly and face would be easy targets to shoot at.

Reaching an empty cell he tapped his foot impatiently while a cop opened the cell with a key before walking in, slamming the barred door behind him as he took a seat on the bench, leaning against the wall.

From the other people in their cells he counted three hired hands sitting in cells, but he didn't give a damn about them. They were lucky to get out of that shit, sure, but he was more concerned about getting his own hide out.

A few minutes passed and he sighed, closing his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that he would most likely be sitting around for quite some time.

He never expected to be wrong.

"What do you mean he hasn't committed any crime?!" he heard an older, masculine voice yell down the hall, and he opened an eye.

"I'm sorry Commissioner, but from the evidence we've collected so far, the weapons recovered at the scene, the testimony of the other three individuals, and finally the video footage I've found, he's not able to be convicted of any crime." The voice was younger, more feminine, and he opened his other eye.

"What about the stuff inside the trucks? Can't we get something to stick on that, seeing as chances are whatever is in there is illegal?" The voices were coming closer, and he sat up on the bench, beginning to wonder if they were talking about him or not.

"From what we've recovered, all the stuff we've found has been high-grade pepper spray, collapsible batons made in Germany, and surplus handcuff's we sold to the public right out of our department. To top it off, it looks like a legitimate transaction, seeing as the shipments were paid for by Gothcorp under their Security Director."

A pause, before the feminine voice's owner added "And I was able to catch some video footage from a camera that the Lounge had running. From the looks of it his story holds up; Scarface brings three cars worth of gunmen to the back loading area, one car crashes, the other two get their passengers out, Scarface's men shoot first and his guys shoot back, a grenade gets thrown into a truck, and the rest is history."

"Goddamnit!" he heard before the two people came into view.

Looking past the bars he saw two people, one man and one woman, staring back at him. The man, the Commissioner, seemed to be nearing the far edge of middle age at around his late fifties, with white hair with some grey still in it, with a moustache to match. He had square glasses that accentuated his light blue eyes and wore a light brown trench coat. Combined with the air of authority about him and the bulge under his coat suggesting a handgun, he guessed he was in charge. And if he was anything like the other world he came from, it was no doubt Commissioner James Gordon.

The woman seemed much younger, about her mid-twenties, with light blue eyes and bright red hair. Wearing rather plain attire in a black shirt and a grey skirt, he expected her to be a young secretary or someone who worked in the office.

The Commissioner than broke his observation with a sigh as he said "Fine, I'll let him go, though I'm telling you he'll be doing something that'll deserve him in Arkham sooner or later."

The woman said nothing as the bars were opened and he walked out of the cell.

Having to look up at him, the older man said "Your free to go, Mr. Jones, though I'm afraid you will not be able to retrieve your firearm until the investigation is complete. We will also have to see if you have registered your weapon with the department as well."

Nodding, he responded in a quiet but firm voice "I have a copy of the registration papers at the Lounge, sir." Truth be told, it was a well-made forged copy that he filled out and someone was able to put an authentic signature and stamping on it a few weeks ago. But he certainly didn't need to know that.

"Very well. If we can't find a copy in our records we'll communicate with you in order to get that copy and verify it before your property is returned."

Croc outwardly complied with the information the man was giving him, but internally he was astounded that he could be so…civil, with him. He had absolutely no idea why, though he knew there had to be some kind of reason for it, especially if he had gone so formal as to use his actual name.

Pivoting to point at the elevator, Gordon instructed him on how to get down to the front entrance, something definitely worth noting since most of the time whenever arrests were made he was brought in through a back entrance. "Take the elevator to the second floor. Unfortunately the first floor entrance for the elevator broke down so you'll have to take the service stairs. Then you…"

But the young lady next to him cut him off. "I'll just escort him to the front door." She interjected.

Giving a sigh of defeat, the Commissioner retorted, "Fine. Your stubborn as your mother, you know that?" Pulling out his service revolver, he handed it to the lady and said "If he does anything tricky, pull the trigger until it clicks empty."

Chuckling, the woman replied "I doubt that'll be necessary, but I'll keep it anyways," before slipping the weapon into the purse she was carrying.

Turning towards Croc, she said, "Follow me, Mr. Jones."

Again he heard it and he felt bewildered by their…civility. He certainly hadn't expected kindness from police, especially if his other universe version of him was similar in criminal acts.

Giving a polite, "Yes, ma'am," he followed the young lady towards the elevator, his mind all over the place, partly feeling thankful he was technically free to go, but also having a nagging feeling that something was not right.

Reaching the elevator, the doors closed behind them, and he read the floor lights above them and knew it would be a little while to get down from the thirtieth floor.

Turning to look at her, he said "Thank you, Miss…"

"Gordon, Barbara Gordon." She replied, sticking her hand out for a handshake.

His arm wouldn't comply as his mind went numb, and he was able to choke out "Wait a minute. You're the Commissioner's daughter?"

Looking up at him, she said gave a small smile and said, "Well yes, I am Gordon's daughter. Why do you ask?"

Taking a moment to compose himself and get over the shock of it all, he finally responded. "But I'm a criminal, one of the Arkham loonies, you know, the kind of people Batman keeps beating the shit out of whenever they come up with some criminal plan ranging from something mild to something that can take out the city in one swoop?"

Shrugging her shoulders, she shot back "Well, from the evidence we obtained we did not have anything to prosecute you with. The footage we obtained backed up your claim of self-defense because Scarface's men shot first, and as far as we are concerned we don't have a reason to take you to trial. It's simply how the justice system works."

Pausing, she added, "Unless you want to stay in a cell of course…"

But before she could even finish he had cut her off "No, definitely not."

Smirking at him, Barbara replied cheerfully "Of course you wouldn't."

Now he was starting to get confused by her cheerful attitude. Looking at her strangely, he got a good look at her bright red hair, and for a moment it seemed familiar, like he had seen it before…

…But he ignored it, knowing that he had never seen her before in his life.

After a few moments of an awkward silence, he said "Well then, thank you Ms. Gordon for helping me avoid getting thrown in jail."

Giving a light chuckle, she said "Please, Mr. Jones, just call me Barbara. Ms. Gordon makes me feel like my mother."

The comment made him resist the urge to smile, knowing it would not fit into his personality if he did.

"Well then, Barbara, please stop calling me Mr. Jones. I feel way too damn old being called that. Waylon or Croc would be fine enough."

His mind was shouting at him something was out of place. First off, Commissioner Gordon and his daughter let him free, the two of them are actually polite and called him by his actual name, and now he was talking to the Commissioner's daughter on a first-name basis. What the hell was this world coming to? Had the Mad Hatter taken over the city and shoved a mind control device onto everyone's head or something?

"Okay then, Waylon." She replied, shaking him out of his thoughts. Looking at her, he was just in time to receive a question.

"You seemed very…formal, to the Commissioner, even considering the fact he was in charge of the group meant to arrest you, I'm wondering why."

Staring at the elevator door, he said "I could tell by his posture he used to be in the military. Back straight, legs shoulder width apart, hands behind his back. The heir of authority about him made me recognize chances were he used to be either an officer or an NCO. As such I gave him the proper customs and courtesies."

Bringing up the subject brought bad memories for him. But of course they had to have been brought even closer to him when she asked "So you used to be in the military?"

Concentrating on the elevator door, he responded to her levelly "Yes, I used to be in the military. I was a Corporal in the United States Marine Corps, served five years as a rifleman and two of them as a fireteam leader."

His memories were brought to the forefront, his mind on the far side of the world as he remembered in bitter detail his worst experiences. The room-to-room street fighting in Afghanistan, the grenades and rifle fire being exchanged, the explosion as an RPG hits your Humvee. Then Rodriguez…

He shut his eyes tight, shaking his head violently as he refused to recall the memory. He refused to remember it, or else he would most likely fall into that chasm that he would never be able to crawl out of.

"Are you alright?" he heard Barbara ask him kindly.

"Yes, I'm fine." He snapped back, unused to the concern she was displaying to him.

Then the elevator doors opened and he stepped out of the elevator, ignoring the fact that the floor was entirely empty and headed for the stairs.

Hearing the sounds of flats from behind him, he was surprised when she cut him off at the stairs.

"You seem to have something on your mind, Waylon." She said bluntly, her eyes seeming to stare a hole through his head.

"Yes, so what does it matter to you?" he said, avoiding putting anger into his words, though inside he was irritated at her.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, though the way she phrased it seemed less of a question and more of an order.

"I don't think I want to burden you with it." He said quietly, brushing past her as he went down the steps.

Then he felt a hand grab his arm and he stopped.

Touch, something that he did not get the chance to receive much of outside of fighting others. Something, that for some reason brought him to a halt.

Looking over his shoulder, Barbara was glaring down at him, before replying, "I think I can handle whatever is on your mind." Letting go of his arm and stepping down enough steps to be below him she looked him in the eye. "Whatever you seem to have on your mind obviously seems to have a large effect on your behavior. I can see it in your eyes. I've seen it before, when something eats at someone so much it causes them to change."

"So what, you're going to be my psychologist now?" he said sarcastically, though internally he was shocked at how observant she was.

"No, just someone who is willing to lend an ear, if you're willing to take it." She stated, her foot starting to tap, most likely from a lack of patience.

Sighing, he had to agree with her father; she was as stubborn as a Cajun mule, if not worse.

"Seeing as I doubt your going to back down on it, I'll agree." He said finally, surprised he hadn't resorted to violence after dealing with all that shit. However, he threw her a warning as he added, "I'm warning you though, it isn't pretty. And I doubt you'll find it pleasing in any sense of the word."

Giving a smirk she immediately replied "I think I can handle it," before turning around and throwing over her shoulder "Meet me at the coffee shop down the street, corner of 42nd and Gotham Boulevard. Coffee's on me."

Croc just stood there bewildered, shaking his head out of confusion. What the hell was this world coming to?

Then his mind took another, more emotional avenue and his head shot up faster than the Roadrunner on steroids. Did she just…invite him for a cup of coffee?

He scratched his head and started to grumble as he reached the lobby, where an officer called him over to the main desk.

"Here you go, Mr. Jones. Apparently it came in from the Lounge." The female officer said before pulling out a folded trench coat and a fedora out. He accepted the clothes and managed to give her a thank you, which was surprising unto itself, considering how little he had done that since the accident so long ago.  
Putting on the coat and slapping the hat onto his head, he walked out of the Gotham City Police Department Headquarters to be introduced to the rain, which fell down in a light drizzle onto the streets.

Turning to the left he headed for the corner of 42nd and Gotham, his mind still trying to catch up with the past ten minutes and how the hell he had even gotten himself in such a situation to begin with. First the Commissioner had been polite to him, and now his daughter was acquainted well enough with him that they were speaking on a first name basis? Either his plan on coming clean from the criminal life was going extremely well, or something was not what it seemed and it was most likely for the worse.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note: Once again, sorry for the long wait, ladies and gentlemen, college has kept me busy these past few weeks and it's been tough trying to keep a chapter or two ahead of what I'm posting, but hopefully I can get some more work done and get you guys another chapter by Halloween. Read, Review, and Enjoy. **

Gotham City, Charlie's Coffee Corner, 0645

Killer Croc slipped into the coffee shop without any stares for once, the coat and hat concealing his identity quite well. However, the only occupants were someone at the counter and a certain figure in a corner booth gesturing for him to come over.

Walking over he noted that Barbara Gordon was wearing a somewhat dry black trench coat, though she decided not to wear a hat judging from her now drenched hair.

Pushing one of two cups of coffee across the table to him, he accepted it, though he was still confused.

"Why are ya doing all this?" he asked, finally letting the question on his chest get released. "Seriously, I'm not used to the Commissioner of the GCPD, much less his daughter actually bein' nice to someone known for committing crimes worthy of the Batman comin' in to stop me."

Taking a sip of her own coffee, she told him "Well, first you haven't committed any sort of felony in the past two and a half months, which in itself is a miracle worthy of our attention. For the past two years you've committed some sort of crime, be it out on the street's or in a cell, at least twice a week, if not more, so ten weeks without seeing you on the _Gotham Gazette_ was definitely worth the polite attitude towards you."

Pausing, she added, "Second, dad told me that you apparently aren't as cold-hearted as people make you out to believe."

Raising an eyebrow, Croc had a bad feeling he knew where this was going. Leaning forward, he asked "And where did he obtain that conclusion, _mademoiselle?_"

Leaning back, she took another sip of coffee and replied "He had a chat with Batman while they were dealing with a case. Apparently it had something to do with Poison Ivy on the loose and Penguin coming up for parole soon due to good behavior. Somehow or another your name got brought up,"

Giving a small smile, she then answered his question "And from what he was told, you decided to help Batgirl in a street fight."

Feeling a mixture of surprise, irritation, and relief, Croc responded with a huff. "They've got no evidence to back it up. If I ended up smashin' a few heads together and Batgirl had been dealing with 'em already, I either didn't know or it must've been the two of us dealing with the same people at different times."

"True," she answered, looking down at her coffee mug. "It's just not often you hear of an enemy of the Bat Family helping them out, directly or indirectly."

Nodding slightly, he smirked before sipping his coffee. "Well, considerin' most of their enemies try to kill them, I'm not surprised."

"I suppose." Barbara sighed, her mind wandering elsewhere for a moment before snapping her attention back to the present. "Anyway, I didn't come here to talk about the present."

His gaze starting to shift over her shoulder and at the wall, Croc asked quietly "So you really want to know, don't you?"

Silently she nodded her head in the affirmative.

The large reptilian man leaned back against the seat, using his tail to stabilize himself as the front two legs came a few inches off the ground.

Releasing a large sigh, he first said "I hope you realize I'm not exactly the kind of man that lets out my innermost secrets to people."

But before she could respond, he added, "So pardon me miss if I end up looking like I'm unused to this, 'cause I am."

Taking a large gulp of coffee, he began his story.

_"As I said, I used to be a United States Marine. Enlisted the day I graduated high school, got thrown into basic training not even a week later._

_I started off as just another recruit, thrown into the masses like a crab in the crab pot, just another bald devil pup working his way to earning the title of Marine. Found out my days hunting in the bayou's proved fruitful, and made expert on an M…"_

_He paused, realizing he was in a different time, an older time, where he doubted they had M-16's. Then again, he didn't really know, but he decided to play it on the safe side._

_"…On an M1 Garand the first time around. Drill Sergeant loved that, and made me a fire team leader in boot after I proved my proficiency in rifle drill, even decided to call me Swamp Kid the rest of the training because of my upbringing._

_Left basic training as a brand-spanking new Private and got pushed into infantry training, where I was pretty much taught everything a man needed to know to kill an enemy soldier, whether it be by rifle, pistol, grenade, or by KA-BAR._

_Then I got sent to the Middle East on embassy duty, working with twenty other Marines to cover an ambassador from getting nailed by some extremists in the country. It was fairly quiet, and the worst we had to deal with was level a rifle at some guy trying to rob a secretary of her purse._

_Made some friends there, including a Private First Class named Miguel Rodriguez. Best friend I ever knew in the Corps. Battle-buddy's, drinking buddies, rifle cleaning buddies, you named it, we were most likely partners on it. Hell, we were the only guys in the platoon to clean our rifles like it was a daily ritual, twice a day, every day, for all ten months in that embassy. Ah, those were the days…"_

By then, Croc's voice started to lower, but he was still loud enough to be clearly heard across the table.

_"Didn't see him during my year on leave back in the states, when I got promoted to Private First Class, but as luck would have it, I got redeployed to some barren rock in the middle of nowhere called Afghanistan. If you thought North Africa during the Second World War was bad, now try dealing with a place like that but where the entire population is holding armed extremists whose only job is to kill as many of us as they could before dying. It was…unsettling, how they were willing to throw themselves to their deaths by charging us, their mind only focused on killing us before they themselves were killed._

_Anyways, I met him right after I got promoted to Lance Corporal for being smart enough to chuck a grenade into a room instead of charging in guns a blazing. Apparently took out a squad full of enemies, including two guys with bazooka's, so I was lucky rather than skillful._

_Rodriguez was my fireteam leader, and a damn good one at that. He cared for all four of us under him, treating us like he was our brother, father, and friend all wrapped in one. After spending a few weeks with him, we were inseparable. Took out quite a few of the bad guys between us, piling up bodies high enough they actually put out a reward for putting a bullet in our heads. Complete with the whole Wild West style 'Wanted' posters stuck to walls and all that jazz._

_Then came a time when we were told to clear a building halfway through the tour. It looked like most of the others; four floors, mostly barren rooms, nothing we hadn't handled before. But we didn't know it was a hideout for the bad guys. Second we walked through the front door we put down three guys and had Grigg's take a bullet to the shoulder. He got out of there all right and was calling for back-up while the rest of us went in._

_Found nothing on the first floor, so up we went. Got to the second floor and we found two guys firing back at us with automatic weapons, so Paulson chucked a frag down the hall and killed one and wounded the other. He took two rounds to the gut and got dragged out of there by Harrison before I put a bullet in the bastard's head. That just left Rodriguez and me to cover the rest of the building._

_We swept the rooms on the second floor, worst we found was a cache of grenades and ammunition that we tagged for removal, "liberated" some grenades while we were at it too._

_We were starting up the stairs to the third floor before someone dropped a grenade on us. We dove into the hallway and other than some scratches from a piece of shrapnel or two we were alright. Our adrenaline was pumping by then, and so we didn't feel the pain right then and there._

_Coming up the stairs, Rodriguez put a round through one guy's head while I kept my aim on the doorway above._

_That's when he hit the tripwire. A grenade exploded not even three feet next to him, and he went down. A couple guys came out of rooms and started shooting, but I was rushing up and returning fire while Rodriguez was drawing his pistol and firing from the ground._

_After we took out about five or six guys, I looked down and realized that my friend had lost his legs from the ankles down. He hadn't even noticed until he tried to get up and realized he had stumps for feet."_

Croc paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

_"That's when he started laughing. I couldn't believe he was laughing at losing his legs. It made my brain go dead for a second before the anger kicked in. I was pissed off, knowing he had just lost his ability to walk, and that it would be for the rest of his life, all because some Middle Eastern bastard rigged an explosive right next to the door._

_I slapped in a fresh clip, put my bayonet on the end and charged down the hall, clearing rooms with a glance and putting some rounds downrange into each before I reached the last set of stairs, not really bothering to check them. I shoved in another clip before I went up the stairs at a sprint, primed a grenade and chucked it through the door when I was halfway up._

_It went off right before I got to the top, so when I charged through I was running through smoke…and then I couldn't remember much….just blood flying, brass falling, bodies on the ground...I must've been so enraged that I blocked the memory from my mind…._

_Next thing I know I'm standing amongst ten if not more bodies, and I run down the stairs to get back and help Rodriguez._

_But when I get down there, I see more bodies in the hall, about four or five more, and one man standing over Rodriguez, pistol in his hand, and I stood there as I watched him pull the trigger._

_The bastard went down not even a second later, courtesy of me putting three rounds through his chest. But Rodriguez…he was staring up at me, his eyes forever open, a bullet…through his head…"_

He set the coffee mug down, his hand starting to shake.

"I…I could've stopped him…I could've shot the guy first…I should've known to be more thorough in clearing the rooms…. I could've… I could've saved him…and it's all…all my fault…"

That's when he cast his gaze down into the coffee mug, and a tear fell, mixing into the last dregs of coffee as Waylon Jones fell silent, unable to speak any more.


	11. Chapter 11

**Congratulations, I've had more time than I expected today so voila, another chapter. Read, review, and enjoy.**

Gotham City, Charlie's Coffee Corner, 0700

Barbara Gordon bit her lip, her mind already churning from the memories he brought up of his life. She had little pity for criminals, with only a few mild exceptions, Victor Fries and Pamela Isley being among them, but now she may have to put Waylon Jones on that list of villains she held pity for. Watching your best friend lost his legs and then to die before your very eyes when he could have been saved…it was a miracle he had not been driven into deeper into madness comparable to other infamous figures. It made her give an internal shudder thinking of Croc…no, Waylon being driven as mad as the Joker.

Resting a hand on his, she whispered, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Retracting his hand, Croc muttered, "It was a long time ago. A lifetime ago, come to think of it."

Getting out of his seat he dropped a ten-dollar bill on the table, saying, "That should cover the coffee." Before heading for the front door.

Gordon stayed in her seat, watching him get up to head for the door. Looking down at the coffee for a moment, she could've sworn he had heard him whisper in a barely perceptible voice "Thank you" before she looked up. But he was already gone.

Reluctantly she picked up the bill and finished her coffee before heading for the door herself.

Getting outside she looked around and was mildly surprised that he was already lost from sight.

Turning to head back to her apartment, her mind pondered her surroundings, and so it came as no surprise to her when a figure fell in step next to her and started to speak.

"You have no idea what you're getting yourself into." The mysterious figure told her.

"I am fully aware of what I am doing, and I actually see a possibility of redemption for him, so long as he's willing to take it." The commissioner's daughter replied curtly.

"He's a criminal. A career one at that. Locked up in Arkham Asylum and Blackgate Penitentiary for enough time that there's little chance of redemption for him. There's a reason he's on the Rogue's List."

Stopping in her tracks, she turned to the figure under the wet trenchcoat and fedora and pointed her finger at him.

"And all I hear is a stuck-up billionaire who's jealous that I may just be attempting to do something you could never do; have a criminal go straight."

Her voice sweetly laced with anger, she added "And I'm sure you still don't think it's over, but it is. You can never hang up the cape, whereas I can. That alone is enough to know we'll never be able to stick together in the long run. So stop following me expecting that to change."

Turning away, she sharply said "Goodbye, Bruce." Before continuing down the street, her mind a mixture of feelings, though her instincts were on high alert, her poise and perception clearly signaling to any hoodlum on the street that she was far from easy prey.

Gotham City, Iceberg Lounge, 0800 hours

Waylon Jones slipped into the lounge quietly, his large feet making barely a noise. Police tape was prevalent towards the back of the restaurant, but thankfully the police had not decided to cordon the stairs to the living quarters of the lounge.

Reaching his room the large man sighed, talking off his clothes before slipping into the shower, letting the warm water cleanse and refresh him, relieving his muscles of the tension of the day. He leaned against a shower wall, resisting the urge to just slide down it and rest under the water.

Finally getting up after a few more minutes, he dried himself off with a towel and went back to his bedroom. Groggily he picked up a CD and slipped it into the music player that he was acquired at a thrift shop while scouting downtown. Immediately "La vie en rose" began to play, and he gladly laid down on his bed as Louis Armstrong lulled him to sleep, the soft jazz soothing his mind from his long day.

_He ran, faster and further than he had possibly expected to run in an alleyway, the exit still so far away. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a figure chasing after him; the only thing he could gleam that whoever it was was certainly human._

_ Starting to slow from the strain of the running a chill crept down his spine as he saw a shadow start to surround him, a familiar silhouette that gave him the adrenaline to run even harder. He refused to let the Batman get the drop on him, and would rather get busted by that bastard Bullock than the Bat._

_ But the shadow descended, becoming larger and larger, urging him on faster and faster, but inevitably he grew slower and slower, the exit becoming a pinprick of light in the distance. The shadow was almost upon him, when another shadow rushed over him and slammed into the first one. That's when he felt something heavy land on him and everything went black._

Waylon Jones shot up, panting and sweating from the bed, only for the soothing sounds of Louis Armstrong's saxophone to relax him, making him recognize the reality of being in a bed in the Lounge rather than on the street.

Shaking his head, the reptile man got out of bed, pausing to stare at the clock. It read 1852 hours, which made him do a double take. He had been asleep for over nine hours?

Snarling he got back into his vest and worn blue jeans and set about getting ready for work. Heading to his dresser he undid his holster for his now police-held M1911 and set in inside the dresser. Until he waited a few days to get it back, so that Bullock wouldn't pull some charge on him for being overly eager for his gun back, he'd have to make do with his back-up.

Swinging open the cylinder for the Smith and Wesson Model 27 revolver to check that it was loaded, he was satisfied as he counted six .357 Magnum rounds inside before he closed the cylinder. Strapping the revolver holster to his shoulder, he holstered the fairly large weapon before heading for the door, ready for another day on the job.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello ladies and gentlemen, once again sorry for taking a while. I'm currently a few chapters ahead in writing this, but now I have favor to ask. I need to see if anyone is willing to be a Beta Reader for my upcoming chapters, primarily to cover whether or not they would fit in the realm of being in character for the two (for reference, my characters are primarily from the Batman: The Animated Series and The New Batman Adventures universe, with some characters being from The Batman universe). Anyone who would have the time to read them, give my some helpful feedback and has a 3-4 day turnaround time at the most would be greatly appreciated.**

**Read, review, and enjoy.**

* * *

Gotham City, Entertainment District, 2114 hours

It was a fairly quiet night out on the town, with the Entertainment District still blaring with lights, music, and signs stating there were hookers in almost every brightly lit building.

Croc smirked as he noted that his presence kept most people a fair distance away from him, which was all the better for the messenger he was escorting.

It was simple really; after his work as a "legitimate" bouncer for the Iceberg Lounge, Lark put him through escort services, escorting whoever was sending a message to whichever criminal was in town to their destination.

Most of the time, they hardly needed more protection than him, though in the rare case that he smelled trouble, he made sure to bring a shotgun with him in the car that he used for the job. It was an old beat-up Winchester 97 shotgun, but with a half dozen shells of 12-gauge buckshot, it would certainly cause quite a bit of damage.

Stepping into the alleyway with the messenger in front of him, he was mildly surprised to see Two-Face waiting in the alleyway with two of his hired hands. Appraising them he noted the handguns they all had, a mixture of .38 revolvers and .45 pistols that made him recognize that while he could take some fire from them, he certainly wouldn't want to be caught in a firefight in here of all places.

"So you brought the dough?" Two-Face asked, his voice raspy as the "bad" side of him spoke.

"Yup," the messenger replied, "As per the contract. You get fifty grand now to commit to the job and you get the other fifty once the job is done."

Glaring at him, the crime lord stated, "Let's do a coin flip on that. Heads, we have a deal. Tails, I get all the dough now or you get shot."

"We had a deal, Two-Face…" the messenger started to say, but the coin was flipped, and as it sung through the air Killer Croc was already in motion, grabbing the messenger and shoving him behind him as it came down, drawing his .357 Magnum in one smooth motion and leveling it at Two-Face.

He grabbed the coin and slapped it on his palm.

"Heads." Two-Face stated, giving a look of calm and collectedness as he stared down the barrel of the revolver. "And I suggest you put that away, gator-boy."

Snarling, Croc holstered the gun before picking up the case of money and tossing it to one of the disfigured man's lackeys.

"Then we're finished here." Croc growled, before backing away, his body still facing the trio of men while he pushed the messenger back towards the street. One of the earliest rules ingrained into him from the Marines; never turn your back on an enemy.

Finally reaching the street, he started to urge the man to the vehicle they had taken to get there when he heard gunfire erupt from the alleyway. Pushing the messenger into the driver's seat but staying outside, he pulled his shotgun out and told the man to gun it before slamming the door shut, racking a shell into the chamber as he made his way to the alleyway.

He leveled the gun just in time to see a certain caped crusader take down Two-Face with a kick to the face, his guns clattering to the ground. Against the walls were his two lackeys, apparently unconscious from a combination of attacks.

Shaking his head, he commented down the alley. "Your either very gutsy, or outright insane, _petite batte_."

Turning towards him, he chuckled as she gave him the universal sign before she started tying up the trio of men.

Looking to make sure the car was gone he headed down the alleyway before picking up the fallen case of money. "Guess he won't be needin' this anymore." He stated dryly, happy that now he technically had a fifty thousand dollar bonus in his hands.

Then his good mood left him as Batgirl grabbed the case as well.

"I don't believe that is yours either." She said bluntly, before giving a yank to take it away from him, but failing to do so.

"Maybe, but at least I won't be as bad as Two-Face with it." He responded, tugging back but surprised that she didn't let go either.

A tugging fight began to ensue, the duo trying to yank the case from each other's hands for a few moments before Croc realized he had a 12-gauge in his hand. He brought it up to level it at Batgirl only to have her kick it up as he pulled the trigger, the shot flying up into the air.

Growling he let the gun drop before throwing a punch, landing it in her gut as he fell back, though he was then dragged forward and stumbled past his opponent.

His legs were kicked out from under him and he instinctively rolled to avoid another kick to where his face used to be moments before.

Their hands free of the case they traded punches and kicks, neither of them being able to get an advantage over the other as Croc's body took most of the punches whereas Batgirl avoided most the blows altogether.

Right when they started to tire from their fight the two heard a whistle from behind them. They paused their fight long enough to look over their shoulders. And unfortunately for them a woman in a leather suit and a whip was holding the case in one of her hands.

"My my, the two of you look like your having a blast." Catwoman purred. "I best take this off your hands and let you lovebirds continue, hmm?"

Ironically, the two of them looked at each other with a look of disgust before Croc finally said, "Shall we teach the _putain_ here not to piss us off? I would very much like to declaw her and leave her hanging from a tree."

Contemplating for a second, she reluctantly nodded in response, but answered, "Don't kill her, and I'll gladly let you kick her ass as much as you want. Batman never seems to lay a heavy hand on her anyways."

A sick grin crossing his face, he chuckled darkly. "Oooh, something to take my anger out on."

Catwoman noted their temporary alliance and decided that it would be best to leave, using her whip to jump to a stairwell before climbing to the roof.

Croc gave chase, grabbing the shotgun with one hand and digging his free hand into the alley wall before starting to climb up, racking the pump and letting a shell become chambered. Batgirl simply pulled out her grappling gun and let it start pulling her up to the rooftop.

And so the two gave chase, the thief smirking as she realized she had an unusual competition in trying to outwit the brains of the Batgirl and the brawn of Killer Croc.

She almost felt confident in outrunning them were it not for the pellets that whizzed past her, one of them lucky enough to tear through her calf, causing her to yowl while the rest went by her.

"I said don't kill her!" Batgirl yelled, now officially pissed off.

"I'm not killin' her! I was trying to slow her down with a shot to the legs!" Croc retorted, racking the pump again.

"What, by blowing her damn legs off? Put that damn thing away!"

Snarling with a pissed off mood of his own, he slung the shotgun across his back as he continued running, the two of them jumping across the rooftops as they tailed the wounded cat burglar.

Seeing her jump through a window into a building, Croc jumped onto the stairs before landing on the ground while Batgirl just sailed through the hole Catwoman had made in the window.

Croc made his entrance by kicking down a side door into the building, revealing a deserted warehouse with Catwoman and Batgirl in the midst of a brawl in the center.

Snarling as he saw that the _chienne_ was still holding onto the cash, even while fending off her opponent, he advanced into the fray.

Cautiously wading into the fight, he made a grab for the money, only to receive a boot to the face and being sent a few steps back.

Pissed, he charged in and punched her, hitting her side, only to receive a kick between the legs. Groaning in muffled pain, Croc finally decided he had enough and twisted around, his six foot tail slamming into her and sending her crashing into a pile of crates before keeling over, groaning from the low blow.

Getting up with a grunt, he was mildly disoriented as he looked up in time to see Catwoman crawl out another window, leaving the money behind.

Grumpily he muttered "Stupid _chienne_, thinking she had a right to that money."

Getting up and seeing the suitcase of cash he grabbed it just in time to receive a batarang to the wrist, making him recoil from the case and forcing him to yank the sharp object out of his hand with his teeth.

Snarling with barely restrained rage, he turned around in time to see Batgirl with another of the devices at the ready.

"That's still not your money." She said bluntly.

"And I'm sure you have more important things to deal with than me making off with some money." He shot back, before slowly trying to pick up the case. Another Batarang shot across the room, and the man jerked his hand away in time to see it come to rest sticking into the suitcase.

Finally picking it up quickly he made a break for the side door, using his muscle to gain some speed. Unfortunately she was faster with a grappling gun, using the device to wrap it around a roof girder and she swung behind him, kicking him in the back and sending him toppling to the ground.

Growling he crawled to the case, almost reaching it before receiving a kick to the side, forcing him to roll away to avoid another kick.

Quickly getting onto his feet, he barely avoided a punch from the vigilante and caught another one, sending a punch into her gut again, the sound of the air exiting her lungs only giving him a momentary victory before she punched him in the nose, followed by her pulling out what appeared to be a pair of bola's that she started swinging.

Swinging his tail about he knocked her feet out from under her, only for her to do the same in reply as she threw the bola's at him, the devices wrapping around his feet before they both came crashing down to the floor.

Trying to get up he twisted his body to roll onto his back before he got a face full of Batgirl's fist, kneeing her in response to the blow. He felt a knee in reply that must've hit a nerve in his joint as he suddenly lost feeling in part of his leg.

Staring up he defiance he snarled at the woman, pissed that she had gotten the upper hand on him so quickly. Throwing a punch he was surprised to see her catch it, and even as he applied more pressure, it only pushed her own limb back by inches.

The two stayed like that, staring each other down, expecting the other to back down, one baring his teeth and sending out a guttural growls that would have made most men shrink away in fear, the other staring down her opponent in dead silence. Neither of them gave in, however, until the sound of ropes being torn apart was distinctively heard and Croc head-butted her, rolling away from his opponent as he got to his feet, albeit unsteadily as he tried to regain feeling in his leg.

Grabbing the case he ducked through the warehouse, weaving amongst the crates as best he could, before reaching a locked door that he simply steamrolled through into the alleyway, a Batarang narrowly missing him as it clashed against the brick wall outside and clattered to the ground.

Looking about Croc spied a manhole and ripped the top off before jumping in, safe in the fact that he was now in his element, the dark waters underneath Gotham as familiar to him as the clawed fingers on his hands.

Still, as he swam through the murky waters under the city, his mind wandered. Why did she not finish him? And even more importantly, why didn't he follow through his attack and try to finish her off either? The thoughts troubled him, and he threw them away into the back of his mind as something that lacked importance. It was irrelevant, and not necessary to think about in order to get his paycheck.

An hour later he handed the case back to Lark, telling her that he retrieved it while Two-Face was in the middle of fighting the Batgirl, as well as making an excuse that ten grand was gone because Two-Face had opened the case up and had started to load the cash on his person before the vigilante showed up. She didn't have to know that the money was safely pocketed in some of his vest pockets, ready to be set aside for whatever use he would have for it later on.


End file.
